Arqiyyon: Prologue to the Second Volume

A Meeting on the Road

The winter had turned impossibly cold overnight. Barreling down the Great Andradi Highway, the breaths of a horse and its rider billowed from their mouths in twin mists. The rider had four silver sauters in his pocket and a bellyful of food. He turned his mount’s head to the east, goading the horse toward the Harexmir. He looked forward to reaching the “Sun Gates” where alabaster minarets spiraled into the sky marking the entrance to Renatha-Geth. Even in the dark, they would still gleam pale as icicles. This city was the most beautiful in all of Calcaida—half roads, half canals— where the richest families in the kingdom built in its districts their most resplendent homes. The queen spent most of her time there, in her palace at the apex of the Renathacantal, a rectangular pool so wide that the palace seemed but a speck on the horizon when one stood at its nadir. The markets there were the most lavish, if the merchant could afford to rent a stall or a scow from which to peddle his wares. There was no such thing as credit in the Queen’s City. But it was leaving the lords and the riches that made the rider so very happy to see the Harexmir. Their pencil-point towers meant he had reached the farthest boundary of this awful city. The rider shivered in the chill and huddled more deeply into his cloak. His face was frozen in a grimace, purple from the cold. “Yah!” he shouted, plying his riding crop on the horse’s flanks. The mane of his silver steed resembled a soaring snowdrift. The horse seemed to be enjoying the run and would have gone just as quickly, crop or no crop. But the movement of the whip kept the rider’s blood from freezing solid in his veins. He was now passing the Bazaar, its narrow cobbled streets winding in all directions. Just then, as he cantered past a cluster of covered stalls, the rider caught the coattails of a scream. He reined in his horse, searching right and left into the darkened alleyways of the Bazaar. Some of the wares were still visible suspended from the rooves of the stalls: colorful glass lamps, intricate carpets and embroidered leather satchels. Other merchants had locked their goods away, through with selling for the winter. Still more stalls had never been filled for the caravans bearing exotic goods had never returned to the city. As he searched the darkness, he heard again the muffled scream, and turned his mount in that direction. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves sounded lonely and foreboding. Against a nearby wall, a young man held his forearm against a woman’s neck. She struggled in his grasp and tried to get away. She reminded the rider of a minnow flopping in the beak of a hawk. “Who goes there?” said the rider, his hand seeking the dagger that hung from his belt. “What are you doing?” “Help me!” the woman screamed against the arm pressing tighter on her throat. ”Please!” The rider sprung from his horse, the sole of his boots thumping decisively against the cobblestones. “You there!” he said. He advanced on the pair, raising the hand clutching his dagger toward the woman’s assailant. “Let her go!” Suddenly, the rider felt a jolt of pain as a stone fell against his temple. From the shadows, three men rushed at him, pinning his arms behind him. His vision weaved and swam. “You get better every time,” said the young man, letting his arm fall away. The young woman was smiling now. The rider felt hands in his pockets, greedy fingers prying out the sauters hidden there. “Four silver sauters!” whistled one of the thieves. “A pretty sum!” “I love it when the sky opens up and rains lords,” said Solus, taking the coins from his underling and turning them in his palm. “Tie him up!” The thieves rushed to do their leader’s bidding. “Kikil, put him in the carriage!” A huge man approached the rider from behind and seized him by the waist. In that moment, the rider understood it was not a stone that had hit him, but this giant’s fist. The brute lifted him over his shoulder and carried him to a carriage hidden in the shadows. The carriage trundled through the streets for what seemed like a long time. It circled the Vaihu Viaduct several times before finally coming to rest outside the city’s northern gates. The captive’s eyes were covered with a cloth and his hands were bound, so he did not know where they had gone nor how far from the city he’d been taken. When the carriage finally stopped, the giant, Kikil, dragged the captive out, and held him fast by his wrists. When Solus removed the captive’s mask, he could make out the canvas ghosts of tents draped over their pickets like starved men. Detritus lay about the ground along with piles of household goods: cloth and trinkets, pots and pans. The thieves’ malicious faces flashed in the yellow firelight. The leader young and blond with impishly cruel features and glinting brown eyes. Next to him, the woman, looking older in the light than she had in the alleyway, leaned toward Solus with a suggestive posture. She smiled a mocking smile that was absent several teeth. At her side stood another man, elderly and with a jagged scar traversing the length of his face. It started at his hairline, trans-secting his eye and part of his nose and ended at the top of his lip. Even when he smiled, he grimaced; but now, he was not smiling. “I am Vittoro, son of Duke Marus of Littabürga, Premier Dexida to the King, and I demand my release,” said the captive firmly, “Let me go, or the repercussions will be severe.” Upon hearing these words, the repercussions will be severe, the man with the scar paled noticeably. Good, thought Vittoro. My words are achieving their aim. “Oh ho ho!” mocked Solus. “The repercussions will be severe!” Solus dangled his arm around the gap-toothed woman’s neck. “Methinks his father will pay a handsome sum for his release!” He kissed her neck “Would you like an emerald or a ruby, my love? A hundred emeralds and rubies? Or perhaps a silken gown?” The hag cackled. “Dio!” barked Solus. “You’re good with messages. And consorting with all those fancy lords. What say you take my terms to his father?” The scarred man said nothing. “Don’t bother, “said Vittoro. “My father won’t pay you a lupo.”“How’s that?” Solus sneered. “He’ll know you plan to kill me anyway.” The thief released the woman’s shoulders and drew close to Vittoro’s face. “What’s that you say? Not important enough to your father to warrant a few lupos?”“I didn’t say that,” said Vittoro. “I said he won’t pay you for the pleasure of killing me.” Solus pounded his fist into Vittoro’s still-fractured face. The captive would have doubled over in pain if Kikil hadn’t held him so tightly. “We’ll see about that,” he said, spitting. “Kikil, take this man to his cell.” Kikil moved to impel Vittoro toward a nearby stand of trees. “You will write your father a letter,” demanded Solus to Vittoro’s back. Kikil wrenched his captive to face Solus again. “Dio will bring you what you need. That is all.” Kikil shoved Vittoro into the dark canopy of the trees. “Sell his horse,” Solus was saying. From his cell in the woods—the leafless elm tree to which he was tightly lashed—Vittoro could hear the thieves discussing what to do with Elowhil. “Don’t you think it’ll cause trouble, selling a horse like this?” The gap-toothed woman asked. “We’ve sold dozens of young lords’ horses. What’s one more?” shrugged Solus. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a horse like this one before. Don’t you think they might recognize it?” “Three Tribes, woman!” snapped Solus. “Who gives the orders around here? Me or you?” Vittoro heard the snap of a palm against flesh, and then the woman saying, “You do, m’lord,” and sniffling. “That’s right! I do,” Solus shouted. Just then, Vittoro heard the whinny of a horse and the thwack of hooves dashing against the ground. In his haste to punish the woman, Solus had loosened Elowhil’s reins. Solus yelped in pain as the other thieves called out: “Get him! Don’t let him get away!” Moments later, Vittoro caught a glimpse of Elowhil’s dappled hide, shining silver against the moonlight, as he rocketed through the trees, a trail of thieves tripping behind him. Even in his situation, Vittoro smiled. There was no horse like Elowhil. After a long while, Vittoro heard a nearby rustling of the leaves. From the darkness, a figure emerged, carrying a candle. Its weak flame lit the thief’s scarred face. “I’m not going to write a letter,” said Vittoro, decisively, before Dio had even come fully into view. “If he wants it, he can write it himself.” “He can’t write,” said Dio. “Or read neither.” The thief moved closer to Vittoro, studying the young lord’s features in the candlelight. “Well, that’s too bad,” said Vittoro, looking away in defiance. “I suppose you’ve come to make me.” “No,” said Dio. quietly. “I come to let ye go.” “What?” said Vittoro in surprise. “Why?” The man was quiet for a moment. “Because I don’t believe a son should have to pay for the sins of his father,” he said. “My father hasn’t committed any sins,” answered Vittoro. Dio laughed. “Boy,” he growled, “I could tell ye stories about your father that would boil your blood.” “You don’t know my father,” said Vittoro haughtily. “You’re wrong,” said Dio. “I know your father very well.” “My father would never associate with a man such as you, a swindler and a thief.” “I may be a thief, but your father is a murderer and a cutthroat,” said Dio. “You’re a liar!” hissed Vittoro, straining against his bonds. If his hands had been free, he might have struck the scarred man’s face. “My father is a good man.” Dio lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Vittoro’s tunic. He held the candle closer to his disfigured cheek. The jagged path of the scar contrasted with the shadows that played against his features. “Your father made me the man I am today,” he snarled. After a moment, his grip on Vittoro relaxed. “There isn’t long to wait now,” he said, cryptically. “Justice is coming. And all those good men will be made to settle their accounts.” Vittoro opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by the sudden crunching of footsteps among the leaves. Dio inhaled sharply, glancing behind him this way and that. In the distance, Solus was calling his name. Quickly, Dio drew the dirk he kept always in his tunic. Effortlessly, he severed the ropes that bound Vittoro to the tree and pulled Vittoro to his feet. “Hit me,” said Dio. “What?” “Hit me,” Dio insisted again. “And make it count.” It took a moment for the words to register, but at last Vittoro drew back his arm. “I saved your life,” said Dio, just before the blow fell. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

New Sample: From Chapter Forty-Seven "Sins of the Father"

“Remember what I told you,” whispered Solus. He stood in the cover of an alleyway, the flat of his arm against Anamet’s throat. She tried to nod, but the pressure of his arm made this difficult. “Good.” Solus looked over his shoulder. “Kikil?” “Kikil here,” said the brute, hurrying toward his master. “No, no, Kikil! Stay there! In the shadows like I told you!” Solus exclaimed, releasing Anamet who rubbed her neck gingerly. “Rat! Show him again!” Rolling his eyes, Rat pushed Kikil back into the darkness of the alleyway. “There,” he said, satisfied. “Good,” agreed Solus. “Is everyone ready?” There was a faint murmur of assent. For a few minutes, all was silent. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Closer still, a baby cried. Then, there was no sound save the nightbirds that clucked in the streets looking for any morsels of food that remained in the bazaar after a busy day. “Someone’s coming!” came the voice of the thieves’ watchman, who stood at the entry of the alleyway looking out upon Bean Road, where it transected the Great Andradi Highway. “Hide!” Everyone save Solus and Anamet rushed into the shadows. “Now!” commanded Solus, and Anamet screamed. She struggled against Solus’ arm, just as they had practiced. Screamed again. Now, they could hear the clip clop of hooves upon the cobblestones. The moonlight illuminated the silver hide of an impressive horse. “Who goes there?” said the rider, reaching for the dagger that hung from his belt. “Help me!” Anamet pleaded. “Please!” The rider sprung from his horse, the soles of his boots echoing against the stones. “Get away!” said the rider, brandishing his dagger at Solus whose eyes glinted evilly in the moonlight. “Let her go!” Suddenly, just as his master had instructed him, Kikil stepped from the shadows and dropped his fist upon the rider’s head. The rider staggered forward and Rat, and two other thieves called Mince and Stoddard leapt from the shadows, pinning the rider’s arms. The rider dropped his dagger. “You get better every time,” Solus congratulated Anamet, who smiled. “Four silver sauters!” exclaimed Mince, who had already rifled through the pockets of the rider’s cloak. Solus couldn’t help but notice it was an expensive traveler’s cloak: one designed to thwart robbers out looking for coin. He smiled to himself. “Get his purse! Get his purse!” said Solus, so excited he could barely contain himself. Rat found the lord’s purse, and emptied its contents into his hand. “A full gold anori!” he whooped. “I love it when the sky opens up and rains lords,” said Solus, lifting his eyes toward the heavens that gleamed bright with stars. He took the coin from Rat and turned it over and over in his palm. A full gold anori coin was extremely rare. Mostly, the thieves found only the amount of the anori, made from the denominations of other coins whose values totaled the anori’s worth. But the coin itself seemed like something out of legend: the unicorn or the dragon. “Tie him up!” commanded Solus when he had regained his composure. Stoddard and Mince cinched the rider’s hands with rope, while Rat bound his eyes with the trusty silk scarf the thieves used on nearly all their victims. “Kikil, put him in the carriage!” Solus ordered. The rider seemed surprised at Kikil’s appearance. His eyes traveled up the man’s height and across his girth unbelievingly. Solus felt pride for Kikil’s size and strength welling up inside him, loved the way Kikil’s physical stature increased his feeling of his own power. He really did adore nights like this. Once their quarry had been loaded into the carriage, Solus leapt onto his own horse. Kikil helped Anamet onto the driver’s bench of the carriage, then clambered up beside her. The other thieves mounted up, and the caravan lurched forward. Every night they stayed in the city, they would follow the same route. Solus did not want to miss any opportunity to rob those who dared to venture out at night. Several times at his command, Rat, Mince and Stoddard left the party to follow some drunkard home and rob him of his coin. Tonight, Solus did little of the work himself, preferring to stay with the carriage, reveling in the weight of the coin in his own purse. Three times, they made the trek around the Vaihu Viaduct. Part of this ruse was to confuse the carriage’s occupant so he could not give away the location of their hideout if the thieves were to ever let him go. The other part was to patrol the streets for other unlucky sons of bitches who, through carelessness and bad decisions, seemed anxious to part with their coin. Thus, it was well into the morning’s wee hours when the party arrived at their hideout in the Blackmoor.